Listen to the shrill child within. we are still in possession of
her relationship with common man was simpatico; resting together like butterflies upon flowers in a
Look! something else I’ve got to do before I’m damned well through with all of this stuff called ‘whatever’! [better word you should have used Steve is ‘life.’] (Oh yes, I now even talk to
Throughout your fellow travels lonely road mysteries and faulty babble friends and family squabbles sitting at tables squeak and
‘We have no time to stand and stare’! says the tramp poet it is in tribute to his eternal freedom he sleeps so very
The maddest of the maddest surround us with books and pens not sharp bloody knives like cutting poetry sliced
The walking stick walks the old man over bumps on the sidewalk his canine leads him very well the old lady watches man and dog hobble from past to future trapped in time no one remembers except for that lady standing over there for those who would remember are all gone except an alien
rain is falling mainly in Maine Peaks reddening suffering aching watering eyes sedentary plains open mischief disinherited immortality cry from L.A.
Seeing colors insane It is ours it is yours it is as dark as coal Grass and dirt so finds you You can run away but it will engulf you up to your neck then up to your hairy eyeballs!
Walking at midnight with a hoe in your hand black and white the grim October harvester cometh you know yourself well enough to take